On us thy spirit haft thou poured;
To us thy word has come;

We feel, we bless, thy quickening, Lord!
Thou shalt not find us dumb.

Thou comeft near; thou ftandest by;
Our work begins to shine;

Thou dwelleft with us mightily,

On come the years divine!

OLD AND NEW.

T. H. Gill.

SOMETIMES gleams upon our fight,
Through present wrong, the Eternal Right!

And step by step, fince time began,

We see the steady gain of man;

That all of good the past hath had
Remains to make our own time glad,
Our common daily life divine,
And every land a Palestine.

We lack but open eye and ear
To find the Orient's marvels here,-
The ftill small voice in autumn's hush,
Yon maple wood the burning bush.

For ftill the new transcends the old,
In figns and tokens manifold:

Slaves rise up men; the olive waves
With roots deep set in battle graves.

Through the harsh noises of our day
A low, sweet prelude finds its way;
Through clouds of doubt and creeds of fear
A light is breaking, calm and clear.

Henceforth my heart fhall figh no more
For olden time and holier shore;
God's love and bleffing, then and there,
Are now, and here, and everywhere.

J. G. Whittier.

THE DAY OF THE LORD!

THE

HE day of the Lord is at hand, at hand,
The ftorms roll up the sky;

A nation fleeps ftarving on heaps of gold,
All dreamers toss and figh.

When the pain is soreft, the child is born,
And the day is darkest before the morn
Of the day of the Lord at hand.

Gather you, gather you, angels of God;
Chivalry, Juftice, and Truth;

Come, for the earth is grown coward and old;
Come down and renew us her youth!
Freedom, Self-sacrifice, Mercy, and Love,
Hafte to the battle-field, ftoop from above,
To the day of the Lord at hand.

Gather you, gather you, hounds of hell,-
Famine, and Plague, and War;
Idleness, Bigotry, Cant, and Misrule,

Gather, and fall in the snare!

Hirelings and Mammonites, Pedants and Knaves,
Crawl to the battle, or sneak to your graves,
In the day of the Lord at hand.

Who would fit down and whine for a loft Age of Gold
While the Lord of all ages is here?

True hearts will leap up at the trumpet of God,
And those who can suffer can dare.

Each past Age of Gold was an iron age too,

And the meekest of saints may find ftern work to do

In the day of the

Lord at hand.

Rev. Charles Kingsley.

BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC.

MINE eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the

Lord:

He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath

are stored;

He hath loosed the fateful lightnings of His terrible swift

sword:

His truth is marching on.

I have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling

camps;

They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and

damps;

I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring

lamps:

His day is marching on.

I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel: ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace fhall deal;

"As

Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his

heel,

Since God is marching on."

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call

retreat;

He is fifting out the hearts of men before His judgment

seat:

Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!

Our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Chrift was born across the sea, With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me: As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on.

Mrs. Julia Ward Howe.

WE

THY WILL BE DONE.

E see not, know not; all our way
Is night with Thee alone is day.
From out the torrent's troubled drift,
Above the storm our prayer we lift,
Thy will be done!

The flesh may fail, the heart may faint,
But who are we to make complaint,
Or dare to plead in times like these
The weakness of our love of ease?
Thy will be done!